


Airwaves

by g33kyclassic, IreneADonovan



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Alternate Universe - Radio, Canon Disabled Character, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Charles Xavier in a Wheelchair, Charles is a Sweetheart, Erik Has Feelings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 05:44:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20169118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/g33kyclassic/pseuds/g33kyclassic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/IreneADonovan/pseuds/IreneADonovan
Summary: Charles is working as a DJ for the on campus radio station when he meets the newest addition to the on-air team: Erik Lehnsherr.  Though Charles falls head over heels for Erik in an instant, he doesn't have the confidence to introduce himself - his whole life has shifted since his accident and romantic relationships have been off the table.  Will Charles get the confidence to take a risk on love?





	Airwaves

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for the Cherik Big Bang 2019. All the lovely art work was created by IreneADonovan - thank you ever so much.
> 
> This fic contains a Charles still adjusting to his life post-accident. It also addressed the issues presented by his disability head-on. I do not live my life in a wheelchair, but have worked with people who do in the course of my work. I hope that my representation of Charles' life rings true, though I'm sure I've missed the mark a bit.
> 
> If you do not want to read a fic that addresses disability and the rights of people with disabilities, this fic may not be your cup of tea.

A lot had changed for Charles in the past three years, and mostly not for the better. He was grateful that Raven had pushed him out of his room one morning (okay, it may have been mid-afternoon, but Charles had definitely still been in bed) and told him to _“Get out of the house, get back to school! Quit moping around and making me worry about you every goddamn minute of the day!”_

So Charles had grudgingly flopped out of bed, gotten himself to campus to talk to his advisor about re-enrolling at Columbia and completing his graduate work. When September rolled around Charles picked his studies up where he had left off after a years absence and just to really show Raven how much he had changed, he went to the student activities fair. Surprisingly he found himself signing up for auditions for student DJs – even more shockingly he’d nailed the audition and got the job.

Raven had, at first, been impressed. She had said (and Charles was not likely to forget this, because it was one of the most unlikely things Raven had ever said to him): _"Huh, I might have to tell me friends you’re cool now. DJ-ing is something cool people do. Are you sure they gave you a job as an on air DJ? Not a behind the scenes guy?"_

After clarifying, that no he wasn’t mistaken and yes he was going to be an on-air DJ and that he was very excited about his ‘British Invasion’ themed show, Raven’s excitement quickly died down. After she listened to his first show, she was downright disgusted. 

“I am never telling my friends about your show - ever. I don’t know why I thought even for a moment you might be doing something cool and hip. You played a song with the lyrics ‘Eleanor gee I think you’re swell’ Charles! That is just embarrassingly awful!” Raven ranted, waving her arms emphatically.

“The song is a product of its time Raven. I find the lyrical choices quite quaint and perfect for portraying the innocence of …”

“Ugg, Charles enough. It’s horrible. The music you like is horrible. Your in-depth analysis after each song almost put me to sleep! Why can’t you play Beyonce?”

The argument about Charles’ music choices, and his show in general went on and on. Almost two years later, Raven still did not have much positive to say about Charles’ radio show, but she did listen to a number of the other on air personalities. She loved Emma Frost’s show, which was really just a re-hash of whatever was on the top 40 charts, mixed in with the latest, juiciest celebrity gossip. Raven often tuned into Sean’s ‘New York underground’ show which highlighted bands that had gotten their start in the underground clubs of New York, some of whom had gone on to fame and fortune, many of whom had not. But Raven favourite show, that she recorded each week, was Angel’s ‘Club Mix’ show, that featured Angel re-mixing various EDM tracks and other genres of music live in studio.

Charles generally preferred Darwin’s ‘R&B History’ show that played selection R&B tracks and educated viewers on the history of African American music and its social context, or Kitty’s show “Bedtime Stories” where she read from children’s novels with some of the greatest classical music as a backdrop. Charles even listened to Azazel’s ‘Russian Nights’ show where he read out chapters from famous Russian novels, in Russian from 11pm to midnight. To be fair Charles mostly listened to Azazel’s show because it helped him fall asleep and with all the aches and pains he experienced since the accident falling asleep was often extremely difficult. Apparently a deep Russian voice was the cure to Charles’ insomnia.

But despite all Raven’s critiques of his show, Charles knew that she was really very glad that he had a hobby outside of his schoolwork and that he had made some friends at the radio station. Charles was pleased as well. It was excellent to talk genetics with his research partner Hank, or to Skype with Moira to see how she was coping with her internship in Washington, but it was also nice to talk to people who had no knowledge of pre-accident Charles. People who didn’t catch themselves asking him to do things he used to do that he couldn’t anymore, people who didn’t realize all that he’d lost.

This fall, Charles didn’t really meet any of the new DJs until the first staff meeting. There had only been two spots open this year and the competition had been fierce from what he’d heard from Logan, the station manager. The new names in the building were Scott Summers – a sports guy who apparently had an encyclopedic knowledge of all the 4 major American sports leagues, and Erik Lehnsherr – who was set to host some sort of alternative rock show. To be honest, Charles hadn’t paid much attention after receiving the initial rundown. He was not particularly interested in sports (well American sports anyway, he loved a good football – soccer- match, or a game of tennis) and alternative rock music was generally far too angry and the lyrics too difficult to decipher for his taste.

For this Thursday afternoon staff meeting Charles found himself trapped between Sebastian Shaw – who hosted a truly awful alt-right, completely inflammatory talk show, and Angel, the host of Raven’s favourite show, who was currently painting her nails a dazzling shade of neon yellow.

Charles decided it was best to look elsewhere for possible pre-meeting chitchat. Looking up and across the table, his eyes landed on an unfamiliar face, a very chiseled, strikingly handsome one, even with the eyebrow piercing. Charles completely forgot any notion of chitchat as he tried to casually take in the incredibly handsome man opposite him. Whoever it was had a long, lean body that was leaning gracefully back in his chair as he stared at his phone. Charles couldn’t make out the colour of his eyes, but his hair was a light brown with hints of ginger. His cheek bones were angry slashes across his face and his brow was furrowed in concentration as if whatever he was browsing through on his phone was troubling him deeply.

Charles was halfway in love before it even occurred to him that this mystery man was likely one of the new DJs. He sincerely hoped it wasn’t the sports guy, Scott, as they likely would have nothing in common at all and Charles couldn’t imagine a man obsessed with sports would want to date someone in a wheelchair.

Charles paid enough attention in the meeting to have his theory confirmed – the man across from him was one Erik Lehnsherr. Listening to the man’s slightly accented voice introduce himself had done nothing to alleviate Charles of his newfound crush. Charles was only slightly ashamed to admit he spent most of the rest of the meeting wondering what Erik Lehnsherr would look like when he stood up, and where his accent was from (was that Austrian? Or German? Maybe Polish?).

It was only after the meeting was adjourned and Erik got up and quickly left the room, long before Charles could negotiate his wheelchair passed the stragglers who were hanging around to chat, that Charles realized he had never even said a word to his new found crush.

* * *

“You voted for Jill Stein?” his voice cracked with incredulity.

“Yes.” The reply was short and firm.

“You saw the ballot and thought ‘Well I know the race is really between Clinton and Trump, but I think I’ll throw my vote away on Stein?’”

“I agreed with her policy proposals. So I voted for her, as did over a million other people.”

Erik stared boldly at Charles, as if daring him to keep the argument going, his blue eyes stormy and clouded with grey. 

“And now?” Charles asked, “Would you still vote for her today? After everything Trump has done?”

“I still agree with her policies.” Erik answered quickly. “My beliefs have not changed.”

“You cannot possibly –“

“Boys, really. Can we get back to talking about something important, like whether Taylor Swift was being carried around in a suitcase?” Emma Frost interrupted, blue eyes flashing angrily, in direct contrast to her flirty, teasing tone.

Since Charles had no earthly idea what Emma was talking about, and since everyone else on the panel of the radio station’s ‘Year in Review’ show chimed in immediately, Charles sat back silently, staring intently across the table at his debate opponent, the only other person who had no opinion about Taylor Swift’s transportation methods.

Erik was staring right back at him, those changeable eyes (Were they blue? Or grey? Why did they sometimes look almost green?) locked on Charles face, expression unreadable. Charles wondered what he was thinking: was he formulating his next argument, was he listening to the chatter of the other DJ’s who were now reflecting on the solo careers of One Direction members, or was he, like Charles, completely occupied with thoughts about the man across from him?

“Well, what do you say Charles?” Sean’s high pitched enthusiastic voice breaking through the spell Erik’s presence had woven around Charles. “Favourite solo One Direction moment of the year?”

“Ah, well. I quite enjoyed the Bowie-esque song by the one with the floppy hair.” Charles was met with blank stares. “I think it had a video where he was floating around? The lyrics said something about not crying?”

“Harry Styles.” Erik’s gruff voice interrupted. “He likes ‘Sign of the Times’ by Harry Styles.”

“You know who Harry Styles is, sugar?” Emma leaned on the table in front of her, her breasts prominently on display as she took a sudden interest in Erik.

“I haven’t been living under a rock.” Was Erik’s curt reply.

“Well aren’t you full of surprises, handsome.” Emma winked, leaning back in her chair, eyes still roaming over Erik as if he was a newfound toy.

Charles was embarrassed to find his was frowning at Emma and her overt flirtation and had to force himself to look away so she didn’t notice. But seeing as Sebastian Shaw was openly scowling at both Emma and Erik, his own reaction appeared to have gone unnoticed.

“Save it for someone who cares, Emma.” Erik rolled his eyes, shaking his head at both Emma and Sebastian.

Charles was not ashamed to admit he spent the rest of the Year in Review Show dancing inside at the realization that Erik was immune to Emma Frost’s considerable charms.

* * *

After two and a half hours locked in a studio with the other DJ’s for the Year in Review Show, Charles was glad to be headed outside for some fresh air. He was less than thrilled that he had to exit the building through an oddly placed handicap accessible door around the corner from the large front doors everyone else used, but the hidden side door had direct access to the long winding ramp he needed, so as usual Charles left the building alone. This was what happened when beautiful old buildings had to be retrofitted to accommodate modern accessibility laws: hidden doors and extra long ramps with switchbacks.

As he wheeled himself slowly around the first corner landing, Charles could hear the voices of some of his fellow DJs wafting his way.

“Do you think they were getting off on it?” Sean asked. 

“Erik’s pre-law, of course he was getting off on arguing with someone.” Angel responded.

Charles paused his movements, hands clutching the wheels of his chair, holding himself perfectly immobile, wondering whether he should keep moving to where he could see his colleagues, or just stay and eavesdrop a little longer.

“I didn’t know Charles had it in him to be honest.” Sean added. “He’s usually so….nice.”

Charles winced at that comment – nice always seemed to be code for ‘boring’. Was he really so ‘nice’ that he failed to have a personality?

“Charles is kind and thoughtful, not stupid Sean.” Angel’s voice cut through Charles’ morose train of thought. “Hell, he argued with you for hours about how the Beatles were more influential than the Rolling Stones.”

“He’s wrong about that.” Sean muttered.

“Did anyone else think they were kinda…flirting?” Kitty’s soft voice piped in.

“There was definitely some pretty intense eye contact going on.” Darwin agreed.

“Total eye sex.” Angel agreed.

Still poised on the ramp, Charles felt himself flush, hardly able to believe what he was hearing. People thought Erik had been flirting with him? Had those long glances had meant something to Erik, just as they had meant so very much to Charles? Was that even possible?

“Well, kids, sorry to break-up your little fantasy pairing, but Erik’s taken.” 

Emma’s voice cut through all of the mixed side chatter Charles hadn’t been able to make out.

“And how do you know that?” Charles could just picture Angel, hand on her hip as she spoke back to Emma – there had never been any love lost between the two of them.

“Erik is taking a girl home for the holidays, Maggie, or something. I heard them talking about how she was going to meet his mother. We’re both pre-law, Angel. I see him around sometimes.” Emma replied coolly. 

“Yeah, Lehnsherr’s a man’s man through and through.” Sebastian spoke up. “Bet his dick has been in plenty of –“

“For fuck’s sake Sebastian! You’re disgusting.” Angel interrupted. “I’m out of here. Goodnight guys.”

And with that, Charles listened to the exchange of goodbyes between the DJs, his hands gripping his wheels with white knuckles. When silence finally blanketed the building and Charles could hear nothing more than the ever present hum of New York City traffic, he slowly eased his way down the ramp.  
Charles forcefully swallowed the lump that had developed in his throat as he made it to the sidewalk. Of course Erik had a girlfriend – how could a man like that be single? He was practically a walking Calvin Klein billboard add with those broad shoulders, that narrow waist and those slim hips. To be perfectly honest, Charles would have paid good money to see Erik on a billboard in only a pair of briefs, but that obviously wasn’t going to happen. The man wasn’t even gay.

The arguments, the eye contact, the intensity of Erik’s attention, all those things were just moments Charles had built up in his sex-starved mind. They weren’t real. 

Charles was a broken body in a chair and it was foolish of him to think Erik was going to see him as a possible romantic partner.

Maybe they could be friends though – friends who debated about politics and social issues. Charles would settle for that. He knew, as pathetic as it might seem, that he would take any bit of Erik he could get.

* * *

Sebastian Shaw was an insufferable ass. After Christmas he tended to be even worse – always incredibly smug and big-headed about whatever over-the-top present his father had bought him, likely trying to overcompensate with material goods to make up for the fact that he was a career politician who hardly ever saw his son in person.

Charles put up with a lot from Sebastian, like when he’d hidden all Charles’ tea in the staff lounge and Charles had had to ask Kitty if she could help him find it (it had been in the highest cupboard above the fridge, pushed all the way to the back and even on her tip toes on a chair, Kitty couldn’t reach it for him), or how Sebastian was unnaturally interested about whether Charles’ paralysis extended to his penis. Charles had tried being politely dismissive of these inquiries, but eventually Angel had walked by during one of these conversations and told Sebastian in no uncertain terms that ‘being that interested in another guy’s dick only means one thing’ and Sebastian had turned about fifty shades of red before stuttering out that he was ‘no homo’ and storming off. Thankfully, he had never asked about Charles’ sex life or sexual function again.

Today though, today Sebastian had gone too far. Charles considered himself a very level-headed person, but he felt almost apoplectic at this moment.

“You cannot take that spot, Sebastian!”

“I can, Chuckie boy. I have that thingy and everything.” 

“That ‘thingy’ is a handicap permit and you do not have any handicap to speak of, so you do not qualify for the permit!” Charles retorted, trying to keep his temper under control, but struggling mightily.

“Listen Chuck. My father got me this sweet ride for Christmas –“ Sebastian grinned widely at Charles. He had spent most of the morning bragging about his new Mercedes Roadster convertible to everyone who made the mistake of stopping in his vicinity. “And he mentioned he could pull some strings and get me the ‘Handi Cap Permit’.” Sebastian rolled his eyes at Charles as his tone became laced with sarcasm. “And I thought, what a great way to get the best parking around campus. And now I have -primo parking.”

“You are taking that spot away from people who truly need it Sebastian. It is completely unethical for you to keep that permit.” Charles ground out between clenched teeth.

“Hey, I got it fair and square man.”

“You have just clearly admitted that you did NOT get it ‘fair and square’. Your father bribed someone to get it.”

“I said no such thing, Chuckie. If someone wanted to do my father a favour -a man who is in his sixties and suffers from chronic back issues – well then, that was just really nice of them, wasn’t it? Besides, why do you care? You don’t use the spot anyway.”

“It doesn’t matter if I use the spot or not, Sebastian.” Charles explained, because it was true, he didn’t use the spot himself – he relied solely on public transportation and his own arms get around campus and New York City in general. “It is the principal of the thing – a young man with no disability should not be taking a handicap parking spot from someone who needs one. They are not a conveniences Sebastian, they are a necessity for the people who use them.”

“Chuck, you have got to get your head out of the clouds and figure out how the real world works. If you think I’m the only one gaming the system –“

“I am aware that people game the system, Sebastian.” Charles muttered. “But you are manipulating the system right in front of my face, in front of everyone’s faces, and I object to you being an absolute ass about it!”

Charles could feel his pulse racing and the heat the flushed across his cheeks. He knew he was being righteously indignant and that Sebastian thought him a naïve fool, but he didn’t much care. Sebastian had gone too far and Charles was not willing to back down.

“And what are you gonna do about it, huh, Chuck-o?” Sebastian taunted, leaning over Charles in a move obviously meant to intimidate. “Are you gonna hurt me? Maybe roll over my toes with your wheels? Or are you just gonna bore me to death with your speeches?”

“Maybe he’ll knock you down the stairs.” A cold voice answered from the door.

Charles looked over his shoulder to see Erik standing there, arms crossed over his chest. He looked both casual and aggressive at the same time. Charles couldn’t help but wonder how he did that – was it the piercings, or the leather jacket, or just his general body language? Whatever it was Erik Lehnsherr looked like a real life badass 95% of the time, in Charles’ humble opinion.

“He’s not gonna hurt me. Chuckie-boy is a pacifist.” Sebastian grinned, so sure of himself.

“Maybe he’ll hurt you some other way.” Erik suggested. “Or he’ll find someone who will.” 

“What do you mean?” Sebastian said, somewhat suspicious.

“No idea Sebastian.” Erik grinned maniacally. “There are just so many options. So very many options.”

“If you even breathe near my car Lehnsherr, I’ll…” Sebastian growled.

“You’ll what, Shaw? Call your daddy?” Erik smirked.

And then he turned, looked over his shoulder, gave Charles a little wink, and walked away. If left Charles feeling more than a little flustered. 

Had Erik just winked at him? That was flirty – wasn’t it? And had he just threatened Sebastian? For Charles?

If Charles hadn’t been securely seated in his wheelchair, he might have swooned. Not that he needed people to defend him – he could certainly fight his own battles.

As Sebastian stormed away, muttering something about his ‘rights’ and Charles being ‘too sensitive’, Charles thought about his next move. He did have an excellent relationship with the head of the Office of Students with Disabilities, and he was co-chair of the Student Accessibility Club, surely if her brought this issue to the attention of the right people…

* * *

The afternoon at the station had been productive. Charles had completed the outline for his latest show (an in-depth analysis of Stairway to Heaven) and pitched a few more ideas to Logan, the station manager. Logan had let slip that Erik’s show had become so popular that they were moving him from the Sunday night newbie slot, to the slot right after Charles’ Thursday evening show. Which likely meant Charles would be seeing a lot more of Erik and that seemed…very nice. Very nice indeed.

Seeing Erik today had been splendid – it would have been nicer without Sebastian being an absolute arse, but Erik himself had been lovely. When they’d bumped into each other in the break room later in the day, Erik had somehow found it in himself not to laugh out loud at Charles’ ridiculous tea mug, which had been given to him by Raven as a Christmas gift. It had a horrible genetic’s pick-up line about upzipping ‘genes’ plastered on it, complete with a picture of a fly being undone. Erik appeared to almost snort into his own coffee, but he held his laughter in, which Charles found quite impressive.

All in all, a good day.

As Charles navigated his way down the ramp to exit the building, he had no idea the day was about to get even better.

His first clue was the shouting, but then generally shouting wouldn’t be a good thing. Especially shouting that contained as much foul language as Charles was currently hearing.

The second clue was the ring of other students, many of them familiar faces from the radio station, who were gathered in a semi-circle type formation near the parking lot.

The last clue was the laughter. Almost everyone in the semi-circle was laughing, or smiling, or had their phones out recording the scene in front of them.  
And boy, was it a scene.

Sebastian’s brand new Mercedes two-seater convertible still sat in the handicap parking spot (to be fair, it was in both handicap parking spots, because apparently Sebastian couldn’t park his fancy sports car properly). But it was now missing some key items – specifically all four tires. Which upon closer inspection, as Charles rolled up to the group and got a view through the crowd, appeared to be crammed inside the car. With an even more thorough investigation, Charles could see the keys to the car were in the ignition, and given how Sebastian was walking around, waving his arms and ranting into his phone, it appeared that the convertible itself was locked up tight. 

“Do you think he can get in there?” Kitty wondered, standing beside Charles and ogling the scene in front of her.

“Don’t know what good it would do.” Darwin replied. “I’ll bet you $100 he couldn’t put those tires back on even if he could get to them.”

Given Sebastian’s upbringing, which was as upper class and well-to-do as his own, Charles had to agree. He certainly would have no idea how to put tires on a vehicle and his mother would have had a fit if he’d even tried: _‘That’s what the help is for, Charles!’_ No doubt Sebastian’s parents felt the same.

As Charles overheard bits of Sebastian’s frantic phone _‘Someone broke my car!?’, ‘You have to come fix it right now!’, ‘How would I know? I can’t even open the doors!’_, Charles could almost feel a little bit sorry for him – almost, but not quite.

It all seemed like an appropriate comeuppance given Sebastian’s earlier attitude and his complete disregard of other people’s need for the handicap spots.

“Oh, no. Would you look at that.” Commented a familiar deep voice.

Charles craned his neck to look up at Erik, who was casually playing with a toothpick between his lips.

“Playing innocent, are we?” Charles smiled.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about Charles.” Erik smirked.

“Of course.” 

Charles turned back to the unfolding scene to find Sebastian’s pacing had increased in speed. His face had turned an alarming shade of red, there was a vein pulsing in his forehead, and spit was flying out of his mouth as he raged into his phone.

At that precise moment, a uniformed member of the on campus parking crew came along. She faced Sebastian head on, an expression of bored indifference on her stony face as he extended his irate tirade to her. After about 30 seconds, she firmly interrupted him by slapping a written ticket onto his chest – for what Charles could only assume was parking in two stalls – and left without a backwards glance.

“That woman is my hero.” Kitty sighed dramatically.

“How convenient of her to stop by.” Erik commented.

Charles couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across his face. Who knew one little phone call could end with such poetic justice.

“Do you have something you’d like to tell the group Charles?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about my friend.”

* * *

If anyone had bothered to ask – which they didn’t – Charles would have said the first two months of 2018 were some of best he had had in his life. He and Hank were making excellent progress on their research – in fact they were planning for a big final push that would require them both to clear their schedules and basically live in the lab for a few weeks. 

Raven was so engrossed with her studies at Pratt and the new friends she had made there, that she had almost completely stopped harping on Charles about his lack of social life. He was unsure if he could sit through one more evening of Raven trying to convince him to go out clubbing with her – which she would have hated anyway. Raven had always complained that Charles was ‘totally embarrassing’ on the dance floor, and Charles himself readily admitted that what he lacked in skill (which was quite a bit), he made up for with enthusiasm. Or at least he had. How he would even participate in dancing now, he honestly wasn’t sure. Yet another life changing effect of the accident.

Even things with Sebastian had gotten better. Oh, he was still a complete asshole who now hated Charles for his part in getting his new sports car towed off campus, but things had changed. Now when he saw Charles at work Shaw' face would turn red and his expression thunderous, but more often than not he would turn on his heal and walk away, not saying a word. The rumour mill suggested that Sebastian had been severely reprimanded by both his father, and the Dean (a close personal friend of the Shaw family) for the public nature of his parking lot incident. The whole thing seemed to have brought Sebastian down a half-notch or so, making his presence a bit more tolerable.

Of course the real reason for his giddy happiness was Erik. 

Erik, who Charles now saw regularly at least once, often twice a week. Erik who had come to watch him play wheelchair rugby with Darwin and had then fussed over Charles’ bloodied knuckles. Charles wouldn’t have believed a man who looked like he was all hard edges could spend five minutes tenderly wrapping up another man’s hand if he hadn’t experienced it himself.

Charles felt rather light of spirit today. He'd had a productive chat with Logan about his upcoming time away from the station. They had chosen a selection of his most popular past episodes to play while he was gone and Charles had thanked Logan profusely for his continued understanding regarding Charles' absurd research schedule. Spending all of Reading Week, while other students lounged on tropical beaches, or spent time with family, locked in the lab with Hank running experiments from dawn to dusk was a rather unhealthy tradition. Luckily for Charles, Logan had a rather deep understanding of unhealthy traditions.

Now, he just had to let Erik know. Charles was quite disappointed that he would not be seeing much of Erik at all in the weeks to come, but he hoped Hank might be persuaded to have a couple meals outside the lab so Charles could arrange a time to see Erik – in a strictly friendly capacity of course. It was perfectly normal to ask a friend to dinner after all. With his mind set, Charles spun around and wheeled toward the break room.

* * *

Erik could be described as many things. An outgoing 'people-person' was not one of them. Which was why his job as a DJ at the on campus radio station came as a surprise to everyone – himself included. He could still remember the day he'd seen the flyer for the DJ positions on the bulletin board outside his Thursday morning Philosophy class. He'd been intrigued, certainly, but he'd had no intention of applying. Of course, at that precise moment Emma Frost had walked up behind him and issued the casual comment 'Most people don’t have the balls to even audition', which Erik had taken as a direct challenge. And Erik was not the kind of person who backed down from a challenge- ever.

So now, half a year later, he found himself in the odd position of not only being a DJ on campus, but having a popular show. He still detested having to answer call-ins to the show live on air – most of the questions were boring and predictable, and the bad ones were absolutely inane. There were a few shows the radio station aired, like Sebastian Shaw's political show, that Erik felt were truly offensive, but here he was, an on-air personality. Someone people might mistake that for being popular and extroverted.

Erik knew the reality was the opposite. He actively disliked most people, including the majority of the DJs at the station. He hated Sebastian Shaw with a burning passion. He respected Emma's intellect and killer instinct, but had no desire to spend any more time in her company than absolutely necessary. He loathed running into Scott in the halls and having to pretend to care about sports as the man rattled on about…well whatever sport captured his attention at that moment. Kitty seemed alright, if a bit timid, and obviously scared of him. Sean was oblivious to the real world and Erik found this both shocking and strangely admirable – that amount of ignorance appeared more willful at times than accidental. Darwin was acceptable to Erik, but as the embodiment of everything Erik was not – affable, popular, and sociable – they didn’t tend to run in the same circles. Azazel and Erik seemed to mix the best, in that they where they were comfortable spending great lengths of time together without ever saying a word. 

And then, there was Charles. Someone Erik, by all accounts, should not like. He was just so nice, so idealistic, and so forgiving. Except everyone liked Charles and so did Erik. He liked Charles more than he had liked just about anyone, outside of family, in his entire life.

When he'd first met Charles, if he was being honest, he hadn’t thought much of him at all. He'd been too chipper; all smiles and complements. Erik had firmly put him into the 'people I don’t want to talk to' box (which was frankly a very crowded place to be). For a while that had been that. He and Charles hardly saw one another and when they did Charles was his typical friendly self, while Erik remained tight lipped and aloof.

And then the Year in Review Show had happened and Erik had found himself sitting across the table from Charles and arguing with him about politics. During that night everything had changed: Charles had become someone incredibly intriguing. Oh, he was still too nice and he compromised far too much, but much to Erik's surprise, he also wasn't a pushover. He was smart, he was stubborn, and he was not at all afraid of going toe to toe with Erik in a debate. It was one of the sexiest things Erik had ever experienced in his life. There had been a moment during their debate, just before Emma interrupted them and turned the discussion back to something trivial, that Erik had had a mental image of crawling across the table, depositing himself in Charles' lap and kissing him until he couldn't think straight –hopefully until neither of them could think straight. But then, with Emma's interruption, the moment had been lost.

They were friends now. Looking at his current life, Erik would have to say Charles was practically his best friend. Erik tended to be a man of many acquaintances: he found people useful, but not particularly interesting. Charles was so much more than that, and yet Erik found himself completely unable to tell Charles how he felt about him. Likely because he had never felt anything quite like it before.

Erik did not obsess over the colour people's eyes, except Charles' giant blue eyes, which were the most stunning colour he had ever seen. Erik did not spend hours just thinking about kissing someone, unless that someone had impossibly red lips and was always biting them when they were thinking deeply about someone, like Charles did.

Sometimes, Erik wondered guiltily if it was the wheelchair – was he a coward who couldn't ask someone out because they were in a wheelchair? After careful consideration (and getting half hard while watching Charles play wheelchair rugby), Erik had concluded that the wheelchair was not a factor in his inability to ask Charles out, or confess his feelings. He was just…hesitant. He just wanted to have the right words, to say exactly the right thing, because he wasn’t sure he could deal with the after effects if Charles rejected him. After all how could Charles do anything but reject him? Erik knew his list of faults was long – he was anti-social, he hated large groups of people, he listened to music too loud, he wanted to change the world and didn't want to have to go through all the red tape to do it, he had no money, and there was always grease under his nails from his part time job at a mechanics shop. How could he touch Charles with those hands? Charles who was always impeccably dressed like a man interviewing to be a professor, with his perfectly pressed pants, his button down shirts, and his soft cardigans. It was absurd to even think Charles would be interested.

So Erik resigned himself to be happy with what he had – which was a truly great friend. He could hardly complain about that, could he?

Erik heard Charles coming before he even entered the break room today. His wheelchair was emitting a truly awful noise and Erik watched as Charles maneuvered into the room, a grimace on his face.

"Bugger."

"Chair giving you issues?" 

"Indeed. It was perfectly fine this morning, but somewhere en route to my first class this dreadful noise began and, well, it's only getting worse." Charles sighed.

"I can look at it for you, if you want." Erik offered. "I'm not an expert, but I work in a mechanic shop, maybe between the two of us we can figure it out."

"That would be brilliant, my friend!" Charles beamed.

Erik watched Charles make a smooth transfer from his wheelchair to one of the horribly uncomfortable plastic break room chairs as he knelt down to inspect the wheels on Charles' chair.

"It's usually a rock, or some such thing getting stuck." Charles offered. "I'm quite particular about regular maintenance – seeing as this is my primary form of transportation."

"You're right. There's a rock wedged in here at the back. It's tiny, but I think," Erik stretched his arm and wiggled around with his pocket knife, "I think once it's out, you'll be good to go."

Erik dug around until the stone popped out, then tightened a slightly loose screw with his knife, and finished by spinning the wheel a few times, listening closely for any noise.

"I'll have to get back in to be sure." Charles commented. "Body weight always makes a difference."

Erik set the chair in an upright position and Charles transferred back in. He spun around quickly and moved back and forth in the break room, until they were both satisfied that the noise was gone.

"Thank you for your help my friend."

Erik shrugged, feeling a bit self conscious under Charles’ appreciative gaze. 

"I'm going to be away from the station for a bit." Charles said, a hint of hesitancy in his voice.

"I heard."

"You did?"

"Logan was talking about it in the hall. Said they’d be airing old episodes of your show for a bit."

"Ah, well…I thought we might be able to do something, outside the station while I'm gone."

Erik felt himself tense at Charles' words. Was he suggesting what Erik thought he was suggesting? Or something else?

"We are friends after all." Charles added. "When I'm so busy at the lab it can be nice to escape for some coffee and conversation."

Erik watched the small vulnerable smile that crossed Charles face, but he couldn't bring himself to say yes. Yes meant sitting across from Charles pretending he was fine being friends, pretending he didn't want things to be different.

"That sounds great, but…I'm really busy for reading week. I'm working extra hours at the shop, and Magda is coming over. She's learning Yiddish from my mom."

"Oh. Of course." Charles answered quickly, his words almost tripping over each other. "It a busy time, for myself as well -"

"Listen, I'd like to Charles. It's just not a good time." Erik interrupted.

An awkward silence fell over the room and Erik inwardly cringed at the whole situation. Maybe he was disappointed that Charles wasn't really asking him out, but he also didn't want to lose their friendship. The thought of only seeing Charles at work and being surrounded by nothing but more awkward silences was unthinkable.

"I made you something." Erik reached into his back pocket and placed a small rectangular object on the table.

Charles reached out and picked it up, a smile already forming on his face. 

"You made me a mixed tape." He chuckled.

"I figured a man who has a record player for his original Beatles albums and Broadway cast recordings, probably still has cassette player hanging around somewhere."

"I do." Charles admitted. "Of course I do. Thank you, my friend."

"Don't go spreading it around that I make mix-tapes, alright? I have a reputation to maintain." Erik said with his best scowl.

"Of course, my friend. My lips are sealed."

* * *

The two weeks researching with Hank had been brutal. The days had been long, and Charles’ body had protested greatly, no matter how often he transferred to the lumpy couch they had set up in the lab. Charles had learned the hard way that spending day and night in the lab with Hank, never leaving his chair for two weeks might have been something he could do when he could walk, but doing the same thing while confined to his wheelchair meant pressure sores and a trip to the hospital. He and Hank now had a timer set up to beep every two hours to remind Charles to change positions, and even though they still often spent 16 hours or more in the lab every day, Charles now needed to go home and sleep in his own hospital grade bed. For all their dedication and despite all their earlier optimism, their experiments had all been abject failures. They were now back to the drawing board.

The small ray of sunshine during failure after failure in the lab, was going home and listening to Erik’s mixed tape. Charles had managed to find a true relic – a Walkman- stored among his music collection. He’d used it every night to listen to Erik’s tape, happy in the knowledge that Raven could tease him all she wanted about using a Walkman, but at least she didn’t know about Erik and his mixed tape. Charles had vowed to keep Erik’s secret thoughtfulness to himself after all.

The mixed tape itself was wonderful. The first side consisted of songs Erik had introduced to Charles already, songs he knew Charles had mentioned he’d enjoyed from Erik’s show. But the second side was all completely new and quite a revelation. Erik had written tiny, incredibly neat notes on each artist and song: apparent side two Charles’ introduction to ‘Canadian Indie rock music of the 1990’s’. Who knew Canada had been producing such intriguing music? Erik apparently.

Charles had been quite looking forward to seeing Erik again and talking to him about The Matthew Good Band – what did ‘Symbolistic White Walls mean?’ and ‘how incredible moving had that music video for ‘Strange Days’ been?’ Surely Erik would be as happy to delve into the discussion as Charles.

Then, the Sunday before he was set to return to the radio station, Raven burst into his room, with an impish look on her face.

“So, Charles, have you listened to your show while you’ve been off at all?” She asked, trying to keep her voice level, while her face was full of mischief.

“Why would I listen to my own show, Raven? Especially now when they’re airing re-runs? I’m really not so much of a self-absorbed twat that I would listen to myself prattle on for an hour.” Charles frowned.

“Do you know what episode they played this week?” Raven asked, unable to contain a smirk.

“No. Nor do I care.” Charles refused to play along with whatever game Raven was playing.

“They aired your boy band special!” Raven squealed with uncontained happiness.

Which, of course she did. Raven had adored his boy band special (almost as much as she’d enjoyed he ‘girl group’ special that had mostly focused on the Spice Girls), not that she admitted as much to people outside this room. Raven’s secret love of sappy British pop groups dated from their first days as newfound siblings. Raven, at the time a precocious 9 year old, had memorized the dance moves from all the Spice Girls music videos and thought Westlife’s ‘Flying Without Wings’ was a masterpiece.

“Did you get them to air it again just for me?” Raven said as she plopped down beside him on his bed, her chin resting in her hands. “Hmm. Did you?”

“They happen to be some of my more popular episodes. As you know, Logan always makes the final decision.” Raven pouted up at him and Charles couldn’t help but smile in response. “I might have mentioned something in support of his idea to air the boy band show again.” He conceded.

“Ack!” Raven launched herself forward and hugged him tightly. “You are the best brother ever!”

“Clearly.” Charles agreed, with a grin.

“Oh, but that guy, what’s his name, Evan? The guy who does the show after yours?” Raven pulled back and looked at Charles.

“Erik, his name is Erik.”

“Yeah, well ‘Erik’ can go fuck a donkey, because he said he didn’t like your show. In fact,” Raven continued, now standing beside the bed, arms waving, face flushed with anger, “he said that he hadn’t ‘realized this station was playing music devoid of any soul’ and he hoped he’d never have to listen to your show again. Can you believe that Charles? Can you?”

“I wasn’t aware that he felt that way.” Charles mumbled, somehow managing to speak around the lump in his throat.

“What an asshole.” 

Raven looked over at him and must have seen more on his face than Charles had intended, because the next moment she was sitting beside him, hand on top of his, her expression fiercely protective.

“You heard me, right Charles. He’s an asshole. Who cares what he thinks anyway?”

“Yes. Who cares.” Charles parroted back, voice devoid of emotion.

Who cared? Well, only Charles. Only his heart, which currently felt as though it was being trampled by an angry mob. Monday, going back to the radio station, and possibly seeing Erik again…well now all of that felt like the last thing he wanted to do.

* * *

“When are you going to be here?”

“Why does your voice sound like that? Are you sick?”

“You’re almost here, right? You better be almost here.”

“Relax, Raven. I’ll be there in a couple hours. My train arrives in Grand Central in less than fifteen minutes. I’ll get a cab, grab some food and be over in no time.”

“You have to come straight here.”

“Why? Did you guys already order in? It was supposed to be my treat.”

“He’s drinking, Moira.”

“What do you mean he’s drinking? Already? The anniversary isn’t until tomorrow.” 

“I know. But I am staring at him slumped over on the couch with a bottle in his hand.”

“He…what? What is he drinking?” Moira demanded, her voice suddenly sounding both concerned and irate.

“Bailey’s.”

“Bailey’s! Charles hates that stuff. Doesn’t he have some sort of rule against drinking alcoholic beverages that are opaque? I swear he once said they ‘couldn’t be trusted’. Why do you even have Bailey’s in the house?”

“It was leftover from a party I went to. I like it, so I brought it home. I just put it on the counter – I never thought he’d drink it!” Raven moaned.

“Okay. Calm down. I will come right over. I will get the cabbie to run lights. I will be there as soon as humanly possible.”

Moira hung up and proceeded to check her watch every thirty seconds. If she could have gotten off the train and run to Charles’ apartment, she would have. Why was he drinking? He never drank unless it was anniversary day. Never. What in the world was happening with Charles?

Moira had barely had time to knock once before Raven wrenched open the door to the apartment.

“We’re you just waiting at the door?” Moira asked, incredulous.

“Oh, god. You’re here.” Raven literally sagged with relief. “He found a bottle of wine.”

“How did he find a bottle of wine?” Moira hissed.

“I don’t know.” Raven held up her hands in self defense at Moira’s thunderous expression. “Seriously, I went to the bathroom to have a shower and I when I got out, the Bailey’s was gone, but he had a bottle of white wine in his hand instead. I swear all the wine is above our fridge. He can’t even reach above the fridge!”

“What happened Raven? Why is he drinking – he never drinks, except for the anniversary. Never.”

“I don’t know. He’s been...off lately. The lab work with Hank last month didn’t go well – I know that. At first I thought he was just tired, two weeks in the lab really does him in these days, but he just... it’s been almost a month since then and...I don’t know Moira. He’s not talking to me. He says everything is fine. I was hoping he’d just come out of it, but then today happened.” Raven shrugged hopelessly.

Moira pushed angrily passed Raven and strode into the living room. Raven might not have been willing to do anything about Charles, but she certainly was. She found Charles slumped on the couch, watching football (soccer really, but Charles refused to call it by its ‘bastardized American name’), and clutching the offending bottle of wine in his hand.

“Charles.” Moira ground out, hands firmly placed on her hips and her best disapproving glare on her face.

“Moira!” Charles exclaimed happily. “Ever so glad you’re here.”

Charles momentarily struggled to sit up, failed and then gave up completely and fully laid down on the couch.

“Care for a drink?” He offered, bottle extended her way.

“No, Charles.” Moira swiped the bottle right out of his hand. “And you shouldn’t be drinking either.”

“Why does it matter if I drink today or tomorrow, Moira? Why?” Charles waved his arms around drunkenly. “I have simply decided this year, the destruction of my spine deserves to be celebrated over several days, not one. I shall imbibe for as long as I see fit.”

Charles made a very poor attempt to retrieve his wine bottle and almost fell off the couch in the process. Leaning forward and bracing herself against Charles, Moira carefully helped him reposition himself on the couch.

“No more, Charles. You’re officially cut off.” Moira declared.

Charles nodded morosely, head hanging.

“I’m going to get to a glass of water, okay? And then we can watch the end of the match, I’ll get you some food and you can sober up a bit. When you’re coherent again – then you’re going to spill your guts, alright? I’m talking deep heartfelt confessions to your best friend about why I found you at the bottom of a bottle today.” Moira instructed firmly.

“I may have something to confess.” Charles mumbled.

“Yeah. I figured.”

A few hours later, having finished the soccer game, gotten Charles to eat a meal and given Raven a hug goodnight, Moira found herself sitting on Charles’ bed, as he wheeled aimlessly back and forth.

“Trying to decide what to tell me first?” Moira prodded. “You must have quite a bit to confess for you to take up drinking as a new hobby.”

“It’s not a new hobby – it was a lapse. A momentary lapse of judgment.”

“So, spill.”

“Moira, have you ever...” Charles stopped moving, clearly lost in thought. “Do you think of me as a sexual being?”

“Charles, in freshman year of college you slept with the entire quiz bowl team. Of course I think of you as a sexual being.”

“Not then, Moira. Now. Post-accident Charles. Getting about in wheelchair Charles. Is he a sexual being?”

Moira was about to reply with a quick affirmative, but something in Charles’ expression – so lost and pleading – stopped her.

“I guess... I can’t separate the two Charles. You didn’t change into a different person because of the accident. I can’t disregard your past sexual history. So, for me, the answer is yes. Of course you have a sex drive now. Your need for sex, for intimacy, that hasn’t changed.”

“But it has.” Charles insisted.

“I...explain it to me.” Moira stumbled, still confused and grasping at what Charles was trying to tell her.

“People don’t look at me and see a person who has sex, or someone they would have sex with. They barely see a person at all. Do you know how many times I’ve been out and people won’t even talk to me? They speak to Raven, or you, or anyone else I happen to be with, but not me. People don’t think I can order a meal, let alone have sex. I don’t know...I don’t know how to find that part of myself again Moira. That person who flirted with everyone and had new fling every month, and who slept with everyone on the quiz bowl team. I don’t know how to even get a sliver of that back in my life. Sometimes I’m not even sure I want to.”

“But you said, last year I think? Or maybe the year before – you said you were dating.” 

“I was. I did.”

“And? That didn’t, you know, lead to anything? You sounded so happy about it on the phone.”

“I feel I have become quite adept at sounding happy when I’m truly not.” Charles replied. “You’re right, I did date. I joined some dating app or other that Raven pestered me about. I went on one date a month for about six months. Two of those dates ended before they started – they came over to the table, realized I was in a wheelchair and couldn’t stand up to greet them and left.”

“Fucking assholes!”

“Yes, well. I shouldn’t have let Raven pick a photo of me where the chair wasn’t visible. False advertising and all that. The third date was scheduled before I changed my profile picture and then when I did change the photo, he didn’t even show up at all. The fourth date was with a man who spent the whole night telling me how much he wanted to take care of me -which sounds lovely in theory, except the longer he spoke, the more I realized he literally wanted to take care of an invalid who couldn’t make decisions for himself. Bit of a turn off really.”

“I’d say.” Moira agreed.

“Gentleman number five, well he wasn’t a gentleman at all. On the bright side I don’t think he cared about the chair at all. On the very, very not bright side, all he talked about was how I had the ‘mouth of dirty cocksucker’. Which, though not 100% untrue, was not something I welcomed on a first date.”

“He sounds like the type of guy who sends unsolicited dick pics.”

“Yes, well, he did do that as well, right after the date. It was...unimpressive.” Moira snorted in amusement.

“And date number six? How’d that go?” She asked, almost afraid to know the answer.

“Date number six was sweet. He was a very nice man. We actually went out three times that month and I was starting to think...Well I was starting to think I was ‘back in the game’ so to speak. But at the end of date three he sat me down and said he thought I was a wonderful person, who deserved all the love in the world, but he wasn’t the man to give it to me.”

“Why?” Moira cried.

“He said he just couldn’t imagine a life where he couldn’t walk down the street holding his boyfriend’s hand.” Charles finished, looking down and his hands and flexing them as if they were defective.

“Charles, you could -”

“I can’t Moira. I can hold someone’s hand when I’m sitting still. When I’m moving – well my hands are otherwise occupied. He wasn’t wrong. But it hurt. Such a little thing – a normal thing.” Charles sighed. “And it made me realize that I wanted what he wanted. Maybe not with him, but still. I didn’t want to be the man I was before the accident. I didn’t want to hop from bed to bed. I couldn’t imagine trying to figure out how to have sex with a new person every month. I didn’t want to share my scarred, broken body with strangers. I wanted a man who would hold my hand. I wanted someone who would be there for me. Someone who would help me figure out how sex even worked with my body as it is now, because I know it’s not going to be the same and sometimes things aren’t going to work the way I’d like them to – that’s the reality of my injury. And when that realization struck, I just... I stopped. I haven’t gone on a date in over a year.” Charles confessed.

“Oh Charles.” Moira reached out to take one of Charles’ hand in hers. “Why haven’t you said anything? To me, or Raven? We would have helped you.”

“What could you do Moira? Change other people’s minds about me, about my disability? Magically make me feel unself-conscious about my legs, or my scars? This isn’t something you can ‘help’ me with.” Charles answered savagely.

“I could help you by offering you support! By telling you all those people are assholes and they don’t really know you.” Moira paused for breath, trying to control her own volatile reaction to Charles’ words. “And yes, its harder now. I should have seen that. But Charles, you will find someone. You’ll meet that person – the one you want to hold hands with and show your scars to and it will be love.”

“I think...I think I found him.” Charles whispered.

“You what?” Moira sputtered.

“I think...I’m almost positive at least. I think I’ve fallen in love with someone.” Charles confessed.

“That’s wonderful Charles!” Moira squeezed Charles hands tightly.

“It would be wonderful if their was any chance he might love me back.” 

“Why wouldn’t he love you back?”

“He has a girlfriend. He’s completely straight and in love with a nice Jewish girl named Magda.”

“Maybe he’s bi...”

“It doesn’t matter Moira! His mother is teaching his girlfriend Yiddish! They’ll get engaged and have beautiful babies with his incredible blue-grey eyes and I’ll be sitting here, alone, forever.”

“Get over here Charles.” Moira motioned to the bed and shifted over to create space beside her. “I want to give you a hug.”

Charles transferred into the bed and Moira wrapped her arms around him. Charles burrowed into her shoulder and Moira sighed at the familiarity of this position.

“This reminds me of undergrad.”

“When everyone thought we were dating?”

“Yes. Fools.”

“I could never be good enough for you Moira MacTaggert.” 

“Damn straight Charles Xavier.”

Moira smiled and then started laughing. She was more than a little relieved when Charles joined in. When the laughter faded, she ran her fingers through Charles hair and leaned her chin onto his head.

“I’m taking you out for dinner tomorrow. We’ll go to that sushi place you love and get that gargantuan family size sushi platter you’re always sure you could eat by yourself and I will get us some sake. Two glasses at most. And then you’re cut off.” Moira declared.

“Agreed.” 

“Good. Now let’s get some sleep.” Moira slipped off the bed and kissed Charles on the forehead. “Goodnight Charles.”

“Goodnight Moira.” Charles smiled softly. “Thank you, for being here. For taking the wine away and listening. You truly are the greatest friend.”

“I know.”

* * *

Erik was generally not the greatest fan of sushi. In fact, he tended to avoid it like the plague, but his boss at the mechanic’s shop insisted on ordering it every Saturday night during Erik’s shift. Today, Erik was the lucky son of a bitch who got to pick up the order, because of course, the boss’s favourite place didn’t deliver. Ridiculous.

Erik was exhausted. He was coming up to the end of an eight hour shift at the shop, his mother hadn’t been feeling well since Reading Week (her arthritis was flaring up), and something was wrong between him and Charles. Fuck if Erik knew what is was, but something was different. 

Ever since Erik had gotten back from Reading Week, desperate to see Charles (two weeks without talking to Charles in person was a torture Erik did not want to repeat) and ask him how he’d liked the mixed tape, something had been off. Charles still spoke to him, they still drank tea in the break room together, they still smiled at each other in the hall, but it was all...wrong somehow. Charles’ smile didn’t seem real and true these days, it looked forced. He never seemed to ask the same type of questions about Erik’s life anymore. It was liked Charles was slowly pushing Erik away and Erik had no idea why. He was constantly thinking about it, going back over their past interactions and trying to figure out where things had gone wrong. He hadn’t slept properly in weeks.

Glancing at his watch and then at the line in front of him, Erik had the sinking feeling he wasn’t going to make it back to the shop until after his shift was supposed to be over. And there was no way in hell his boss was going to pay him overtime for the sushi run.

He was finally at the front of the line and about to pick up his order when he heard it – Charles’ laugh. Not the restrained half-hearted one he’d been giving Erik lately, but the full bodied, genuine laugh Erik missed like a drowning man missed land.

Erik grabbed his bag full of take out and without even thinking about what he was doing, heading toward the sound of Charles’ voice. Even when he spotted him, even when it registered that Charles was sitting at a table across from a beautiful brunette, Erik kept walking. The pull of that laugh was irresistible.

“Erik!” Charles voice rang out, happier than Erik had heard it in weeks.

“Hello Charles.” Erik bit out, refusing to look at Charles’ date, keeping his eyes on Charles’ face.

“Whatever are you doing here? I seem to recall you don’t much care for sushi.” 

Charles was still smiling, that joyful smile of his, and Erik felt like he was basking in the light of the sun.

“I don’t. This is for my boss. I’m the errand boy tonight.”

“Do you have a moment to join us?” Charles gestured to the chair across from him and seemed to realize in that moment he had yet to introduce his date to Erik. “Oh – how rude of me. Erik this is Moira, Moira this is Erik.”

“Pleasure to meet you Erik.” Moira smiled and extended her hand.

Erik looked at her hand and suppressed a shudder – no way in hell was he shaking hands with Charles’ girlfriend.

“Can’t,” He lifted the bags in his arms slightly. “I can’t stay, my boss is expecting the food.”

“Oh, right of course.” Charles glanced down at his hands and Erik felt his stomach drop- the awkwardness was back.

At that moment the waitress approached.

“Would you like a refill ma’am?” She asked Moira who nodded politely. “And your friend?” She continued, still looking directly at Moira and not acknowledging Charles at all.

“Ask him.” Erik interrupted, trying to keep his voice under control, but failing to contain his growing anger.

“Excuse me?” The waitress stood up, looking puzzled.

“Ask him.” Erik gestured to Charles. “Fucking ask him if he wants a refill. He’s not mute. Ask him.”

“I just...I thought...” She stuttered.

“You thought what? That because he’s in a wheelchair he can’t answer a simple question? He’s a fucking genius.” Erik ranted. “There’s nothing wrong with his brain, or his voice, which if you’d been paying the least bit of attention you would already know. So ask him the fucking question.”

“Would you like a refill sir?” The waitress whispered, voice quivering slightly.

“Yes, please.” Charles answered gently. “I apologize for my friend’s...passionate display.”

“No, I’m sorry sir. I was rude.” The waitress replied, her voice still barely above a whisper.

“Damn right you were.” Erik muttered fiercely.

“Erik...enough.” Charles murmured, his voice both soft and commanding.

Erik shut his mouth, but didn’t stop glaring at the waitress until she left. Once she was gone, Erik felt the intensity of Moira’s eye on him, but refused to acknowledge her, keeping his focus solely on Charles.

“You have to go back to work.” Charles noted.

“Yeah, I do.”

“I’ll see you at the station then.”

“Yeah.”

Erik wished he knew what else to say. That he could somehow tell Charles that he knew something had changed between them, but he didn’t know why and he desperately wanted to fix whatever it was he’d done wrong. But Charles was on a date. With...Maria, was it? With someone, and Erik felt like he might just explode if he stayed standing there one minute longer in the middle of Charles’ romantic night out with his girlfriend. 

“I’ll see you at the station then.” He managed to get out. “Good night Charles.”

“Good night Erik.”

Erik took the subway back to the shop and wondered what you were supposed to do when you realized you were in love with someone in the same moment you realized they would never be in love with you. Was he supposed to live the rest of his life as Charles’ friend? Should he just make it until the end of the semester at the station and then cut Charles out of his life?

Erik groaned and let his head hit the window of the subway car behind him. The thought of cutting Charles out of his life was...it was impossible. Erik didn’t want to live in a world without Charles. He also didn’t particularly want to live in a world where he was never going to kiss Charles, and hold his hand, and figure out how sex with someone with paraplegia worked.

He was hopeless. Somehow, he had become a hopeless, love sick fool.

The question was – what was he going to do about it?

* * *

“So, who was that man again?” Moira inquired.

Now safely sitting in Charles’ room as he flipped through his record collection absently, Moira finally gave voice to the question she’d been dying to ask since the bad-boy personified had interrupted their dinner an hour ago.

“Oh, Erik?” Charles replied as he slipped a record into the record player. “He’s a colleague from the radio station.”

“Ummhmm.” Moira nodded. “He has a very...forceful personality.”

“I suppose so.”

“You ‘suppose’, Charles? The man terrified that waitress – not that he was wrong. If he’d been a bit nicer about it would have been almost gallant. Like a knight in shining armour come to protect your virtue.” Moira sighed happily.

“I think the sake has gone to you head Moira.” Charles frowned. 

“You cannot tell me you didn’t swoon, just a little bit, when he started ranting and called you a genius.” Moira arched a brow at Charles.

“It was very nice of him.” Charles replied stiffly.

“Oh my God!” Moira cried, jumping up from the bed and rushing over to Charles’ side. “Oh my God – he’s the guy! Isn’t he? He’s the guy you’re in love with!”

“He most certainly is not.” Charles huffed, face completely red and hands twitching.

“Oh, he is. Deny all you want, I just know it.” Moira smiled. “Charles, he likes you!”

“He does not. And he is not...I don’t...he’s not the guy.” Charles moved away from Moira with jerky pulls on his wheels. “I don’t want to talk about this Moira.”

“Okay. I’m going to give one more little push and then I’ll leave it, I promise.” Moira declared, hand on her heart. “If Erik was the guy, then I would say, Erik is interested. In you, Charles. He didn’t take his eyes off you, he glared at me like I was gum on his shoe, and he tore that waitress a new one for not respecting you. That’s...that’s something you do for someone you care about.”

Charles stared at her, but said nothing. His blue eyes looked wide and vulnerable. Moira knew she’d pushed as far as she could possibly go, anymore on the topic and Charles was likely to ask her to leave in the haughty rich-boy tone he took when he was overwhelmed and needed space. 

“Okay. I’m done. End of Moira speeches. Are we doing karaoke, or what?”

“Raven would kill me if we didn’t.” Charles replied.

“Then let’s go.”

Moira smiled as she hurried out of Charles’ room toward the karaoke machine in the living room. She loved karaoke with Charles and Raven – Charles was incredibly easy to egg on and by the end of the night he was pretty much guaranteed to be singing ‘Be Our Guest’ complete with horrible French accent. Surely this would take his mind off ‘the man’ (Erik, Moira was absolutely sure it was Erik).

* * *

Erik rubbed his temples as he searched through the bathroom for some ibuprofen to take the edge of his pounding headache. It was almost 8pm on a Thursday night and Erik felt about ninety years old. 

Almost two weeks ago, the day after he’d seen Charles with his girlfriend, his mother had fallen in the bathroom and broken her hip. He’d spent several days running back and forth from school to the hospital. His mother was fine, and she’d told him he didn’t need to worry about her several times. Though Erik knew she would recover, he couldn’t in good conscious leave his mother alone in their three story walk-up hobbling around on crutches all day.

So, he’d asked Logan for some time off at the station and contacted his professors to let them knew why he would be missing more classes than usual. His colleagues at the station had given him a card – hand delivered by Emma at their shared Legal Ethics class. Charles had signed it, along with everyone else. Charles had also texted him.

_‘I heard about your mother, Erik – Logan shared the news. I’m ever so sorry to hear about the accident. If there is anything I can do for you, or your mother, please do not hesitate to ask. Nothing is too much. I miss you my friend. I hope your mother has a swift recovery and we can chat over a cup of tea again soon.’_

Erik had read the text about a hundred times over the past two days. His immediate reaction had been an intense desire to run over to campus and grab Charles and demand to know what he meant by ‘I miss you’. Because for the life of him Erik couldn’t figure out if that was supposed to sound as...romantic as it did. The rest of the text seemed normal and friendly and typical of Charles and how he’d texted in the past. But _‘I miss you my friend’_ sent shivers down Erik’s spine.

Of course, he couldn’t leave his mother to go searching around for Charles and he couldn’t invite Charles over because, well three story walk up. So instead of doing anything, Erik had just stared at his phone almost constantly for 48 hours. His mother had noticed and told him to: _‘Put that away. You’ll hurt your eyes staring at it all day’._

Erik swallowed two pills and walked out to the living room to join his mother.

“Your friend’s show starts soon, yes?” She asked.

“Yes, Momma.”

“We’ll listen?”

“Of course, Momma.” 

Erik knew his mother loved Charles’ show – she had once admitted that she found his voice ‘soothing’. Erik certainly wasn’t going to miss Charles’ show, he never did. Oh, there were times he wasn’t able to listen live (quite a bit actually as he’d been prepping for his own show while Charles’ aired for the past three months), but he always found time to listen later. Charles had a way of telling stories about songs, about what they meant to him and to others, about how they reflected the social, political and cultural climate around them, that was addictive. Erik had never listened to Charles’ show without learning something, being compelled to look up an artist, or to listen to a song with new ears.

Erik’s mother reached over to turn on their antique-shop worthy radio and within seconds, Charles’ crisp British accent was filling the room.

“Good evening radio listeners. Thank you for tuning in to ‘Across the Pond’, a show about music from the British Isles.”

“I love his voice.” Erik’s mother sighed happily.

Erik wondered, not for the first time, what his mother might think if he told her about Charles: how Charles was a certified genius, how caring and giving he was, how he was in a wheelchair from a horrific accident, but he hadn’t let that change his optimistic outlook on life. About how Erik was in love with him.

As always, Erik said nothing.

“Today’s show is – well actually before I talk about the show itself I have a confession to make. I’ve been a bit off lately. Self-indulgent and heart sick I suppose one might say. And when I’m like this, stuck in a rut, I turn to the music that gives me the most comfort, and yet the music the reflects my pain back at me like holding up a mirror. A strange combination one might think, and it is odd. But it works. It’s like a beautiful tragedy: the songs are about heartbreak and rejection. But the melodies are so beautiful you could listen to them until the day you die. It’s strange the way music touches the soul.

“And so with that sad little introduction, tonight we will be going back to the classics. To the band that started my journey into popular music when I was only a boy. That’s right, tonight we’re listening to the Beatles.

“Our first selection tonight is a wonderful example of the emotional honesty The Beatles brought to music. Love as suffering, my dear listeners. Surely we’ve all felt that at times - John Lennon certainly did. I hope you’ll enjoy this one as much as I do, it’s 'You’ve Got To Hide Your Love Away'.”

“That poor boy.” His mother commented as the song began to play. “In love with someone who does not love him back.”

For a moment Erik was completely confused about why his mother was talking about John Lennon as if he were alive and well and in love.

“Who is your friend in love with, Erik? Do you know?” His mother prompted.

“He hasn’t said anything.” Erik answered truthfully.

Erik wondered why his mother thought Charles was suffering from unrequited love when Erik had just seen him out with his girlfriend. Surely she was mistaken?

But then Charles played ‘Eleanor Rigby’, ‘Yesterday’, and ‘Blackbird’. Erik’s felt himself struggling to breath past the lump in his throat. Was Charles really feeling this way? So lost and alone? Was he trying to say something tonight on air? 

Erik sat, hands clenching at the arm rest of his chair as his mother hummed along happily to ‘Let it Be’, "Nowhere Man', ‘In My Life’, ‘I Will’ and ‘Hey Jude’.

Finally, Charles’ voice interrupted Erik’s swirling thoughts once more.

“I’d like to end the evening with two final songs: one for me and one for a...” Charles paused, longer than was generally acceptable on radio, but finally continued, “for a friend of mine.

“I, myself, have been a fan of The Beatles for many years. Like many fans, I find it hard to pick a single favourite song – the catalogue of choices is vast and frankly so many of their songs are worthy of being chosen – but I do have a song that I pick more than any other when pressed. That would be ‘Golden Slumbers’. Maybe its because I’ve always loved a good dream – the ones where you wake and you just want to close your eyes, go back to sleep and slip right back into the dream you were having, because it was so much better than reality. Surely you know the ones? Those are the dreams I long for. These days I long to return to my dreams more often than ever – to live a life unrestricted by the boundaries life currently presents. It won’t happen of course, but I do have this song.”

Erik suppressed the moan that threatened to escape his throat – a noise of protest at Charles words. Because how could he sit here when Charles was saying things like that? When every muscle in his body twitched, wanting him to get up and move and go to Charles and kiss him some sense into him – until he realized his life, his real life was better than a dream, that Erik would make it better.

He was so lost in his thoughts and so fixated on not running out of the house, that he started when Charles’ voice come on air again.

“My final song, as I mentioned is dedicated to a friend. This friend claimed once to not be a Beatles fan, but my belief is that there is a Beatles fan in all of us. Perhaps undiscovered, but still there. In this case, dear listeners, I was right – my friend was a Beatles fan. A very particular one, but a fan nonetheless. So tonight, here’s his favourite tune, one he once described as ‘vicious’. I hope you’ve enjoyed the show tonight. Join us again next Thursday for another episode of ‘Across the Pond’. This is Charles Xavier, signing off.”

As the first chords of ‘I’m Looking Through You’ rang out through the apartment, Erik could sit still no longer.

“I have to go.” He said as he stood up and practically ran to the door.

“Now Erik? But you like this song!” His mother frowned quizzically.

“Yes. But I have to go Momma.”

“Are you coming back tonight?”

“I don’t know.” He replied haltingly. “Maybe, hopefully not.”

“As mysterious as ever.” His mother sighed. “You be safe my boy.”

“Of course Momma.” Erik called out as he closed the door and ran down the stairs.

He pushed through the front door and out onto the street. Pumping his arms as he ran toward campus he sent up a desperate prayer to whoever might be listening that Charles would still be at the station when he got there.

* * *

Apparently baring one’s soul on the radio was both cathartic and exhausting. His show had finished almost an hour ago and yet Charles was still at the station, staring at a page of handwritten notes in a dimly lit room. He’d been trying to write an apology note to Logan, since he’d completely gone off the rails and aired a show he hadn’t cleared with the boss first. Logan was unlikely to be upset – he wasn’t a man given to great emotional outbursts, but Charles felt compelled to apologize anyway.

Unfortunately writing said apology had so far been a failure. Charles felt adrift and a bit lost, his brain kept starting and stopping mid-thought, leaving him mostly incoherent. 

Why had he done it? Why had he aired a show all about heartbreak, sadness and longing? What could he possibly have been thinking?

He’d been thinking, a few hours earlier, that Moira was right and he deserved love, but he was also so sure he wasn’t going to find it. He’d been thinking that wallowing in his sorrows and sharing them with others might be therapeutic. He’d been thinking about Erik and missing him like he’d lost the use of another part of his body, and not seeing him was making his heart stutter and ache.

There was a tiny part of Charles, a ridiculous romantic fool hidden inside of him, that had hoped the show would travel out across the airwaves and find Erik and that he would know. Erik would hear the songs, would listen to Charles’ voice and the force of Charles’ love would hit him like a freight train. Which was completely absurd, because Erik hated Charles’ show.

To be fair, someone had been listening. Raven had called as soon as the show was over and admonished him for not telling her about his love life. Charles had argued there had been nothing to tell, but Raven, as expected, wasn’t having any of it. By the end of the phone call Charles had been coaxed into promising Raven dinner out at her favourite restaurant, followed by a ‘therapeutic confession session’ (Raven’s words, not Charles’) at their apartment, complete with pints of ice cream.

Turning back to the mostly blank sheet of paper, Charles once again attempted to find the words to apologize to Logan. This time, however, instead of being distracted by his own muddled thoughts, Charles was distracted by the sound of raised voices in the hallway.

“Where the fuck are you going?” Sebastian’s voice yelled, followed immediately by a loud crash and muffled cry. “You’re off your rocker. Completely fucking insane.”

“Stay the fuck out of my way.” A voice growled in response.

Charles sat back in his chair, briefly wondering if he should be worried about Sebastian (he had sounded rather put out, but the again it was _Sebastian_), when the door behind him swung open so forcefully it crashed into the doorstop with a bang.

“Charles?” Erik panted.

Charles had a moment to take in the scene before him: Erik slumped over, his hands on his knees, chest heaving, sweat clinging to his brow as he looked across the room at Charles, who stared right back eyes wide in shock. Then the moment was broken when Kitty poked her head in the door.

“Everything ok in here? I heard yelling in the hall.”

“Everything is fine Kitty.” Charles answered.

He wasn’t exactly sure that was true – the everything being fine bit– but he very much wanted Kitty to leave could find out why Erik was here, why he looked like he’d just run an obstacle course, and why he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off Charles’ face.

“Okay, well, I’ll just leave then.” Kitty said hesitantly.

“Mmm.” Charles nodded and turned his attention back to Erik.

It suddenly occurred to him exactly why Erik must be here, looking so frantic and out of sorts.

“Dear God, did something happen to your mother, Erik?” 

Charles rushed over, stopping directly in front of Erik who had not moved an inch since he entered the room.

“My mother is fine.” Erik croaked in response.

“Well, that’s...good.” Charles replied, feeling more confused than relieved.

“You played my favourite Beatles song.”

“Oh!” Charles exclaimed in surprise. “Yes, I... I thought you hated my show?”

“Hate your show?” Erik pushed himself upright, looking thoroughly insulted.

“You...Raven said you ‘hoped never to listen to my show again’.”

“When the fuck did I supposedly say that?” Erik grumbled.

“Over break, when my show was airing old episodes. I didn’t hear it, but Raven did say -”

“The boy band one. The fucking boy band episode.” Erik rolled his eyes. “I was not the right audience for that episode, I’ll cop to that. And think I might have said something about never wanting to hear that particular episode again and that I couldn’t wait for you to be back and airing new stuff, but I swear, I have never said I ‘hate’ your show. Because I don’t hate your show.”

“Oh.” Charles found himself squirming in his seat under Erik’s intense gaze.

The weeks he’d spent not knowing what to say to Erik because he’d thought Erik hated his radio work suddenly seemed ridiculous. Why hadn’t he listened to Erik’s show himself to check what he’d really said? Why had he taken Raven’s words as gospel? 

“Fuck – that’s it isn’t it?” Erik interjected, running his hands angrily through his hair. “That’s why you’ve been acting so strange, so distant – you thought I hated your show.”

Charles managed a small nod in reply.

“Shit Charles, if I hate something, I just say it. I don’t pretend to like things, that’s bullshit. It’s a waste of my fucking time.”

“Yes. That...that seems more in keeping with...I mean I should have known you would have said something.” Charles stumbled over his words, feeling embarrassed about his assumptions.

“I do want to talk about your show though – tonight’s show.” Erik state firmly.

“You were listening.” Charles said, though Erik had certainly implied as much earlier, it still seemed hard to believe.

“Yeah. My mom and I. She said something and I had to come.” Erik looked down at the floor, frowning and for a moment Charles thought he might not continue. But then Erik took a deep breath and quickly asked: “Did your girlfriend break up with you?”

“I’m sorry?” Charles jerked back in his chair reflexively. 

His girlfriend? Whatever was Erik talking about?

“Your girlfriend.” Erik repeated, slowly as if Charles might not understand simple English. “That woman I saw you with at the restaurant...Maria? Did she break up with you?”

“Err, no. I – actually its odd we’ve never spoken about this before but – I am very gay. Completely, totally gay. The woman from the other night – Moira- has literally paraded in front of me in a bikini while shopping and it does nothing for me, absolutely nothing. So, no she did not break up with me, as she is not, and never has been, my girlfriend.” 

It appeared to be Erik’s turn to look both confused and contrite. He frowned and leaned back on his heels. When he didn’t say anything for several moments, Charles couldn’t keep himself quiet any longer.

“I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable, my friend. I know your not -”

“It doesn’t make me uncomfortable.” Erik interrupted quickly. “And you know I’m not what?”

“Oh, well I know straight men can often think that gay men are trying to ‘convert’ them or some such nonsense and I want to assure you I would do no such thing. I very much respect you and your relationship with Magda. It’s also completely inappropriate to think you can ‘change’ someone’s sexuality -” 

Charles stopped talking immediately when he glanced up at Erik and caught the incredulous expression on his face.

“You think I’m in a relationship with Madga.” Erik stated.

“Well, yes.” Charle arched a questioning brow. “Emma told the entire station she was your girlfriend. You brought her home for holidays, your mother is teaching her Yiddish. We’re all expecting to hear about your engagement by the end of the semester – there’s a pool going and everything.”

For a moment Erik didn’t move a muscle. When he did, he threw his head backward and laughed. And laughed. And laughed.

“I take it Emma was mistaken.” Charles grumbled.

“Yeah, you could say that.” Erik replied, clutching his side as if he’d cramped up from laughing so hard.

“I’m glad we’ve amused you.” Charles said sharply, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Erik’s laughter stopped abruptly and he gazed at Charles with a look of determination on his face.

“Why did you play that song, Charles?” Erik asked, taking a step closer to Charles. “You spent your whole set playing sad songs about heartbreak and then you played that song – my favourite Beatles song. Why?”

Charles thought about lying. He thought about deflecting. He thought about a great many options of what he could say to Erik – most of them equally cowardly and absurd. In the end, with his mind blank of any reasonable alternatives, the truth simply...slipped out.

“Because I’m quite hopelessly in love with you.”

Charle could feel the pounding of his heart ringing in his ears after his declaration. Even though he was firmly rooted to his chair, he felt more than a little faint. He knew he should take his eyes off the floor and look at Erik, but he found he simply didn’t have the strength to move. As the seconds ticked by without a response, Charles could feel his breathing becoming more and more erratic.

Suddenly Erik’s black, scuffed combat boots appeared in Charles field of vision, right in front of his own. Then Erik’s hands were on his shoulders and his legs swung over Charles’ own. Before Charles could do more than jerk his head up in surprise, he found himself with a lap full of Erik Lehnsherr.

“What are you doing?” Charles whispered, his voice shaking.

“I’m going to kiss you.” Erik replied as if this was a completely normal occurrence. “This is okay right? I’m not hurting you, am I?”

“No, no it doesn’t hurt.” Charles said, still stunned. “Why are you...you don’t have to...” Charles fumbled.

“I want to kiss you.” Erik cupped Charles’ face with his hands. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for weeks – no for months. I wanted to crawl across the table during the Year in Review show and kiss that smug look off your face when you talked about how I should have voted for Clinton and I haven’t stopped wanting to kiss you since.”

“You should have voted for Clinton.” Charles smirked slightly. “She was the right choice -”

Charles never finished his thought. Not that he would ever complain about it, because Erik was kissing him and it was perfect. Erik kissed exactly how Charles had thought he would – with pure focus and determination. He explored every corner of Charles mouth, nipped at Charles lips and then licked them soothingly. And Charles, after years without any type of intimate touch, moaned with every persistent invasion. He grabbed at Erik’s shoulders, and ran his hands through his hair. He discovered that tongue rings were both odd and apparently his new fetish – because feeling Erik’s stud flick and rub at his tongue only made Charles think of other things it might rub against and how incredible that might feel. He really couldn’t wait to find out...

Eventually, they had to come up for air and they did, both of them panting and resting their foreheads against each other, unable to pull apart. Charles couldn’t stop smiling and Erik couldn’t seem to stop leaning back in to nip at Charles’ lower lip.

The creaking of a door behind them didn’t have any impact on Erik’s actions whatsoever. Charles found he didn’t much care either.

“Oh!” Kitty’s voice drifted through the room. “Sorry guys. I’ll just close this back up. Wow, Emma is never gonna believe this – I just won the pool.” She muttered as she closed the door.

“I guess the whole station is going to know in about five minutes.” Erik murmured.

“Oh, how terrible.” Charles teased and then laughed. “Want to kiss me until they all barge in?”

“Fuck, yes.”


End file.
